If I had read the fine print I would have noticed that Chipper Hatter is an architectural photographer, not a contractor or whatever I was thinking.
Got to read people!
But......Chipper is going to provide me with additional pictures.
Yay!
Here's to the kitchen!

Click HERE please!

If you're good at following directions then you've just seen the inspiration for my kitchen.
I'm crazy about it!
In fact, I'm so crazy about it I sent Chipper (the designer) an email asking for details.
We'll see if I get a reply.
I hope I didn't come across as a crazy woman and earn myself an immediate delete!

Lying Eyes

Last night, after my 8 o'clock frappé complete with walk through every aisle of Target, I settled into my little twin bed I claimed in the dorm at work.
With iPad in hand, and Pocket Frogs on the screen, I turned out all but one small light.
My eyes heavy, I was ready for sleep, missing my Bootshusband and wishing I was home.
Just as I turned out the little light I saw it!
I flicked the light back on, pinched it between my fingers!
I snatched the covers back and tore at the sheets.
After finding no more I opened my fingers.
The bedbug was just a bit of fuzz.

Dogtography

I had Nikki do a little posing on the end table for me.

She wasn't exactly willing, but being two feet off the ground she thought it best to stay put.

Why does she only look in one direction?

Is that her "good" side?

When I said, "Who's there?" that was the end of the photo session.

Even Mashed Potatoes and Gravy Have Their Differences

This post is about coffee, not a Thanksgiving side item.
(Although, if you're like me, coffee could be a Thanksgiving side item.)

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Me: "Boots!  You want coffee?"

Boots: "Yeah!"

Me: "What do you want with it?"

Boots: "......Water?"

To Boots, coffee is just coffee bean by-products and dihydrogen monoxide, but to me- coffee is dessert!

Just got back from my first date with my husband.
Not my first date with my husband, my first date with my husband.
Yeah.
He took me to see Tangled.
It was great!
Man, I love Disney movies!
Last night we watched Beauty and the Beast.
I've been all, "Boots, we need a family Thanksgiving tradition!"
Maybe going to see a movie Thanksgiving night can be our new tradition.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Dear Boots,

Happy Thanksgiving!
Remember last year when you took me to your parents for Thanksgiving?
And your mom made dressing?
Well, I wasn't paying attention.
Please don't be mad if it doesn't taste like anything you've ever had before, I'm wingin' it.

Love!

My phone is on its last leg call.
The crazy thing won't stop vibrating!
Its constantly buzzing, and I slide it open as an attempt to make it stop, but that only makes the screen go white.
Its useless, unless you need it to shake you to death.

I took my memory card out this morning since I'm sure I'll be chucking it out of a window soon and I'd like to keep the pictures I have on it.
Some of these are pretty funny.

A picture my boss sent me of his newest grandbaby when she was born.

Me and two of my cousins (and a sliver of my sister) when I graduated this past spring.

Here's me and my sisters.

Me, another set of cousins, and my sisters.

Me and my Popaw.

He's great.

The night before we got married, folding programs.

Chloe in the dog house

Two of my nephews in the bubble pool at the zoo

Boots sent me this picture.

Its a buggy of painting supplies he bought.

Our backyard when Boots and his buddy were tearing it up

Nikki says, "Roll Tide!"

Nikki swimming in the lake with my cousins

Two of my nephews

D for Duuuuuumb!

Apparently the masses are getting restless for me to post something since I got a message today from my mother that said in not so many words, "When are you going to post something again?"
I apologize, I've been busy.
Work is crazy and my brain is tired.

Today I want to talk to you about something personal, something intimate.
Something that all of us at some point in time will have to deal with, unless we're princesses who have people take care of this sort of thing for us.

I'm talking about getting your car worked on.
Your oil changed, some sort of something worked on, anything under the hood.

Is that not the wickedest (that's not a word) feeling in the world?
Its like going to the doctor, "So, have you been eating healthy lately?"
"Yes," but inside your head, "Not if you count that box of donuts yesterday."

Its like those guys know, they know, that you don't always stop before throwing it in drive, straight out of reverse.
They know that one time you bought the cheap gas when you're supposed to only use premium.
They know for sure that you don't get your oil changed right on the three thousand mile mark.
Getting your oil changed is fairly personal but, how do you feel when something major is wrong?

How do you explain (why do you feel like you have to?) your clutch going out and needing to be replaced to some guy you've never met before but, you're supposed to trust him with a big piece of your personal property?
Cars are personal.
Getting your car worked on is intimate.
Are you with me?

I was walking through town this morning and looking at houses.
Most of them are pretty normal/boring but, one old antique-looking story book house has a blue painted ceiling on the front porch.
How my eyes were drawn to a blue painted ceiling from the sidewalk twenty feet away, I don't know.
I thought, "Boots will never let me do that in our bathroom," and my eyes looked next at the old wooden vanity with flowers in a vase.
Like somebody would be sitting on the porch doing her makeup later.
Then I saw a tiny table with miniature chairs occupied by one Raggedy Ann doll having a silent tea party all to herself.
Had I had a camera with me, there's no doubt I would have taken a picture of this whimsical scene.
I'd have asked for permission first, saying to expect a post on this very picture in a few hours, and handed the person a business blog card.
I said all that to say this- I need cards.
Something pretty I can hand to people to point them to my blog.
But then when they get here they see this- blah!
I need a redesign and I need cards.

Boots, Part One

My writing famine has ended and now I have stories to tell.
First, I want to tell you the story about my husband, as I know him.
I want to tell "our story," the story of us and how we came to be.

I'll start at the very beginning.
I was born.
Just kidding, that's too far back!

I was eighteen years old and just graduated from a tiny high school with a tiny scholarship to a tiny college in a tiny town that would not even be on a map if not for said educationary facility.
I started school and did the school stuff.

In November that year, the school had an outdoor concert.
I went by myself and stood on the right hand side facing the stage, way in the back.
A few months ago I found out that Boots was there at the same concert, standing in the same place I was.
We were standing right beside each other, and didn't even know.

In January, I transferred to mortuary school and in March I got a job in a big town and moved closer to home.

I made friends with the secretary at the funeral home, her son was getting married to one of Boots' best girlfriends in July.
I didn't go to the wedding but, my secretary friend best galpal Melody, was there, since she was the MOG and all, and she met Boots.
She thought he was cute and funny and devised a plan with her new daughter-in-law to hook us up.
A few weeks later, the wedding pictures were developed and brought to work.

"Talia's friend, Boots, is so funny. 
You should meet him."

"What's he do?"

"Oh, he's a garbageman."

"He better be hot."
(I totally meant it when I said that.)

She showed me the pictures and told me how old he was.
That was it as far as I was concerned.
Hot or not, I had an age limit.
Plus, I thought a garbageman wasn't really my type.
(No offense to garbage men and all but, they do have stereotypes and stigmas that follow them around like a stench.)
But I looked him up and added him as a friend on facebook because everybody knows facebook is the way to get to know people.

I went to my aunt and uncle's farm that weekend, with Garbageman Boots still on my mind.
Believe it or not, they knew Boots, they knew his whole family!
Long ago, Boots and his family used to live in the same little town my aunt and uncle lived in, which was the same little town I went to school at.
Weird- yes, stars aligning- yes.
After a little story-telling about Boots' life story as my aunt knew it, we decided that Boots was indeed too old for a little 19 year old girl.
(If you're freaking out right now, thinking he was like 45, chill; he was 27, I was 19.
Not that bad.)

I kept him as a friend on facebook and "stalked" him for several months.
By stalked I mean I looked at his pictures and read his posts, silently without comment.

In October, I turned 20, and Talia and her husband had a Halloween party at their house.
My best galpal Melody told me I should come, Boots would be there.

Boots wasn't there when I got there, he was doing that garbageman thing.

Boots finally came to the party right before I decided to split but, he was too busy trying to stuff a high school girl in a trashcan and I was distracted by what would become a five-month long detour down Not My Best Decision.

On my way out the door, Melody said, "Boots, this is Rachel."
Melody was right, he was hot.
He was tall with light blond hair, cut military style.
My eyes were magnetized to his garbageman uniform, I'd never seen a real garbageman uniform that close before.
"Oh, hey Rachel."
And that was it, right back to trying to put the girl in the trashcan.

I decided that meeting The Distraction and Boots' evident disinterest in me was a sign.
No more wondering about whether or not this funny, hot garbageman was too old to be thinking about.

Like I said before, The Distraction was not my best decision.
He was funny and I was laughed off my feet.
Sometimes I ask myself what was I thinkin' but, I blame the whole deal on Boots.
I realize that I could have been a little more aggressive than, "Hey," when I first saw him but, Boots was there to meet me too, he could have been less involved in trying to put a lid on a girl in a trash can!
(In Boots' defense, he didn't know he was supposed to meet me at the party, maybe it is my fault.)

I dated The Distraction until the end of March, when after several failed breakup attempts I finally decided enough was enough and ended it.

And......that's Part One.
This story's too long for one post.
:)

Not a Machine

I'm not good with schedules.

A month and a half ago, I started a month long schedule of recipes.
I'm in the middle of week three, (don't I know how to stretch a meal!)

I put off trips to the grocery store (no matter how bad I need milk!) and schedule them around whether or not Boots is home (because I'd rather spend the time with him, not because I want his help unloading the car!).

Exercise tapes that promise to give you the abominable abdominal muscles of Victoria's Secret models within thirty days of you exercising every day are a worthless cause.

Those read the Bible in a year plans that tell you exactly what to read on what day are forgotten in three days.

I can't stick to a schedule.
I can't blog every day.
If I have to stick strictly to something I don't want to do it.
Please don't be mad at me when I can't crank something out everyday!

Dogs understand gravity.
When I get ice from the ice maker, Chloe stares at the floor in front of the refrigerator, hoping I drop a piece.

If germs were brightly colored then maybe men would understand.

Dear McDonald's,

I believe you have some explaining to do.

You run these commercials and advertisements, and even have a recorded voice to push the message at the drive thru about these gosh awful, terribly, delicious frappés.
You know I love all things chocolate, coffee, and cold but, I have a terrible problem with my hips getting bigger, so I can't delight as often as I'd like.
Please tell me why, on the morning after one long, restless, paranoid night sleeping in the midst of the dead, when I decide to allow myself a breakfast treat, that you would let me down like this and stomp on my heart?
You have to understand, I was tired and grumpy and a mocha frappé would have just made. my. day.
I tried to be nice when she broke the news but, I was certainly not "loving' it."
Why didn't the girl clean the frappé machine that takes 45 minutes to clean, 45 minutes ago?
It is, after all, breakfast and prime time for coffee!

I'm upset.
Please reconcile this situation immediately by sending one jillion "free frappé" coupons post haste!

Disappointed,
Rachel

P.S. I bet Starbucks never does this.

Here's a picture of the shrimp with white beans on toast I made for lunch.




















What?
You don't see anything?
Oh, yeah, that's right!
I forgot to put the card in the camera and by the time I realized my mistake we'd already eaten every bite!

The blog has been suffering lately because I have nothing to talk about.
Nothing is coming to me.
I'm blank!

Let me just share some random thoughts...

~Office Depot is my store of inspiration.
Something about thousands of blank notebooks and jillions of unused pens gets my mind racing!
I could go broke in that store without even trying.
Maybe I should take the iPad and go hang out in one of their model offices so I can have something to write about.

~I'm a religious tipper.
Why aren't I a religious tigger?
Do I owe God interest for all the tithes I've missed?
Why should we tip more than 10% if that's all God gets from us, at best?

~Today I went to the federal building and applied for a new social security card.
I had to take my belt off to go through the machine and then put it back on in front of everybody walking around me.
I felt naked!
Belts are personal, it's not like taking off your boots.

~If you are a homeless man standing on side of the road with a cardboard sign, I am a royal rear end.
I will drive 2.4 miles out of my way to avoid you because A) my windows don't roll down and I ain't opening the door, B) I'm the cheapest person I know besides my dad, I ain't giving you any money!
There are so many community programs available that I already paid for with my tax dollars, go spend my money elsewhere!

~Tonight Boots and I went to a local high school football game.
At half time the band from the other team played first and mid-way through the first song one of the sousaphone players bells fell off!
It was hilarious!
Poor guy.

That's all I've got.
Maybe more tomorrow.